


My Disjointed Narrative

by fizzyblogic (phizzle)



Category: Scrubs
Genre: Alternate Universe - Trans, Dom/sub, F/M, M/M, Transphobia, WIP Amnesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-23
Updated: 2011-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phizzle/pseuds/fizzyblogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one, I think I wrote in 2009, and never got far because I'm not familiar with the source. I like Scrubs, but it has far too much of my biggest fear (and stuff that just trips my squeamish ickness radar) for me to really get into it. My boyfriend loves it, though, so I know a bunch of stuff from him, and had this great idea for mtf!JD but ... well, vague canon knowledge only gets you so far when you're me. (I have this thing where I have to know EVERYTHING I POSSIBLY CAN about a canon before I have the confidence to write it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Disjointed Narrative

When John Dorian is five years old, her mom stops buying her dresses, even when she asks and asks.

“But _why_?” she stomps.

“Sweetie, boys don’t wear dresses.”

“But,” she stammers, “but,” but she can’t say anything to that.

*

“This is not a relationship, I am not in love with you,” Dr Cox says, in that exact rapid-fire tone of voice he says everything, “there will be no hugging, no kissing, and _definitely_ no spooning. This is just another way I own your ass. Have you got that, Priscilla?”

_Oh, I will get that hug. One day, my friend. One. Day._ “Got it.”

“Good. Now take your pants off.”

“Yes, Dr Cox.”

“Uh, Nancy? There will be no calling me doctor, not while I’m doing this. The epithet brings to mind all the wacky and wonderful bodily fluids I see all day at work, and well, it’s not gonna be helping. Just call me sir, or Big Man.”

“You got it, Big Man.” She drops her pants and crawls over the bed on her knees, reaching for the dresser. Behind her, Dr Cox’s belt clicks as he undoes it.

*

JD likes going by JD. Her name’s John, she’s been fine with that for a long time, but JD is just initials, her name could be anything. Her name could be _Jadie_. It’s not like anybody knows the difference.

She’s tried to tell her friends, the people who mean the _most_ to her. She knows Carla and Elliot would make those squealing noises and hustle her off for girly nights of painting toenails and gossiping about boys and which movie star they’d do, but they … already do all of that, now she thinks about it. Turk would look at her differently, and talk about surgical procedures and gender reassignment and they wouldn’t get to spend afternoons off channel-surfing or playing Who Can Get The Peanut Into The Cup From Furthest Away until Carla forcibly takes the bowl of peanuts from them. JD just wants to be Turk’s best friend, and not have to get called lesbian just because she likes having sex with women, and she just … doesn’t even want to think about surgery or pretending she’d be happy that way. John Dorian, officially, is a man, and if she came out she’d be That Tranny Doctor, some kind of _novelty_. She wants to be a good doctor, not a good chuckle, and so JD is JD is happy with her penis. When she’s really honest with herself, she feels like she lucked out on the deal; guys get all sorts of privileges girls just _don’t_ , and that’s unfair but there’s also the lack of — you know — every week _someone_ at work is having her … _time_ … and JD just constantly thanks her lucky stars or her guardian angel or the unicorn responsible for her being born with man parts.

“ _FFFT_. Newbie. I’m sure you’re off in some fairy wonderland singing jolly songs with a leprechaun —”

That would be _awesome_! There’d be clouds and shamrocks everywhere with _glitter_ and they’d sing Irish ditties and she could play a fiddle!

“— but if you don’t _mind_ , Mrs Bluthie in that room over there needs her test results. So go get ’em, Dorothy.”

Dr Cox treats her to the usual painful shoulder knock. _I wonder if he practices on mannequins._ Perhaps with a rag tied around his head for dramatic effect.

Or not.  



End file.
